


Poetry is Still Kicking

by fixme_in_fortyfive



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fandom Trumps Hate, M/M, Poet!Pete, rockstar!Patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixme_in_fortyfive/pseuds/fixme_in_fortyfive
Summary: Pete just wants to make poetry cool with the kids, Patrick just wants to make music.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	Poetry is Still Kicking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sperrywink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sperrywink/gifts).



> This is my late contribution for FTH 2019. I had a lot in mind for this, but procrastination, you know?

Ever since Pete quit playing bass all those years ago and gotten into poetry, he kind of forgot what it's like backstage. That it’s a different world back here; watching from side stage, seeing the crowd and feeling their energy without getting thrown around in the pit - not that there isn’t something amazing about getting thrown around in the pit, too. 

It’s just different, like he’s part of it, too, which he kind of is. At least tonight.

He’s part of Patrick Stump’s crew, he’s got the hoodie to proof it and while it’s not Madison Square Garden - it’s still magical. Maybe more so, because Pete has always preferred an intimate club to a massive arena. Always has, always will. 

And Patrick Stump - who can fill an entire arena on any given day anyway - in a small club that barely holds a few hundred people? That’s just crazy, totally nuts. People are crammed into every last nook and cranny, tons of people that didn’t make it inside are still outside, trying to catch some tunes through the open windows. 

And it’s so hot, with so many people in such a tight space Pete’s not surprised; there’s probably not enough oxygen left for the amount of people around. Security is handing out water while Patrick does his best to give an unforgettable show. 

And they earned this, after following Pete’s cryptic clues all month long through all 50 states, and through the world wide web. Pete is glad he’s got to be part of it all. 

When the last song wraps up, Patrick pushing out the last words and the crowd is cheering for an encore, Patrick is a sweaty mess, but radiating pure happiness. Pete remembers that feeling, albeit on a smaller scale. He never really realized how much he missed being up on a stage like that until he got to watch Patrick do it night after night after night. 

He’s not ready to let go of it all, but at the same time now is the moment they’ve been building up to for the past month and he needs to see it through now, wants to know that it all worked out. 

“The fact that so many of you showed up tonight is amazing and you should be proud of yourselves, I know I am.”

The crowd is cheering and there’s a sea of mobile phones - camera lights flashing - held up high, no doubt recording every second of the show, every song and every little tidbit of Patrick talking to his fans in-between and now. Pete watches in awe, almost as excited as the crowd even though he knows exactly what's coming. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not like I didn’t already know you guys were pretty awesome. And I am so grateful to get to do this; for all of you.”

Patrick smiles when the crowd erupts into cheers once more. He’s still a little out of breath, proof that he’s not just going through the motion at his shows but is really giving it all he’s got. 

“But I can’t take all the credit for this elaborate scheme that lead you all here tonight. You might have noticed this guy-,” Patrick looks right at Pete, hidden behind the curtains, “hanging around. He popped up in a few pictures, you know, lurking in the background, easily recognizable by the starbucks cup. No, he doesn’t have a brand deal. Yet.”

That earns Patrick a few laughs from the crowd and yeah, Pete wishes he had a starbucks brand deal, he really does. Carrying over the laughter and cheering Pete can faintly hear one guy shouting his name and by the chuckle that slips from Patrick’s lips he heard it, too.

Patrick goes on to talk about everything they did for his tour, what Pete wanted to do and why and he should be listening, because that’s what he worked so hard for, the reason he took a chance in a cafe-turned-poetry-club to rope Patrick Stump into his half-assed plan. But the words and their meaning get lost somewhere between Patrick biting his lips when he smiles at the crowd, his fingers wrapped around the microphone stand when he rests his chin on them and the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, peaking through under his hat. 

~*~*~

He can’t believe his luck when he walks into the small cafe in downtown chicago and spots none other than Patrick Stump, sitting at a dimly-lit table in the corner across the room. Granted, he has to do a double take to make sure it’s really him and it’s not entirely thanks to the bad lighting. 

Pete would bet Patrick is hard - almost impossible - to overlook on any given day, it’s part of the whole famous-rockstar-package. But Pete hadn’t been looking for him and even if he would have, he would have been looking for that prominent leather jacket and skinny jeans Patrick is known for. 

What he finds is quite the opposite, hence the double take, but Pete still recognizes him, even without the leather jacket, even with his eyes hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses and a baseball cap covering his hair; doing his best to not call attention to himself.

If Pete would believe in fate, then he’d guess this would be it. The moment he’s been looking - waiting - for without knowing what it is that he’s looking for. 

But he doesn’t really believe in fate and as it is, he’d rather think himself lucky as he walks over to Patrick, who is busy looking at his phone and doesn’t notice Pete until he slides into the seat opposite him. 

“Is this seat taken?”

Pete only asks to get Patrick’s attention, since he’s already sitting down anyway and has no intention to get up again, despite Patrick’s mumbled “Actually…”.

“Great.” he says, not bothering with a menu since he already knows what he’s ordering anyway. What he doesn’t know is where to go from here. Pete hasn’t exactly thought that far ahead, seeing as this was a spur of the moment kind of thing. He saw an opportunity and took it. 

If he just gets to the point he might blow it and Patrick already looks a little annoyed at the intrusion and a lot ready to bolt if Pete turns out to be some crazy dude. Can’t blame him. Famous rockstar enjoying a quiet night out, trying to fly under the radar just for some guy getting all up in his business.

Yeah, that wouldn’t be good, but Pete can play it cool. Totally. 

It’s not like they don’t have anything in common. They’re both into music and Patrick at least is interested enough in poetry to turn up here tonight. Pete can work with that.

“I haven’t been to one of these in ages.”

He’s not actually addressing Patrick so he’s not surprised when he doesn’t get an answer but Patrick is stealing a few glances at him without ever looking up from his phone. 

“Not cafes. I’ve been to those. I’m basically living in one half the time,” Pete explains and chuckles at his own joke. 

“I mean poetry slams.”

Patrick does not look interested at all, but he’s definitely listening. Before Pete can go on, their conversation - one-sided as it is - is interrupted when a waitress comes by to take Pete’s order - coffee with milk and a drizzle of caramel, thank you - and asking Patrick if he wants anything else, which he declines with a pleasant smile. That smile does not extend once his eyes fall on Pete, but Pete grins at him nonetheless.

“I’m a poet myself.”

That catches Patrick’s attention, at last, a hint of budding interest in that strange guy sitting across from him peeking through his bored facade. 

“No offense, you don’t look like a poet.”

“None taken. You think of poets and you think old guy, grey hair, sitting in a leather chair with a leather-bound book. Possibly wearing a ruff around his neck and a dress-shirt with puffy arms.”

By the look on Patrick’s face Pete hit the nail on the head with that. But that was an easy one. If people thought of rockstars as poets Pete would probably be out of a job. 

“Poets come in all shapes and forms nowadays though, just so you know.”

They’re interrupted once more when the waitress brings Pete’s drink over, but this time Patrick seems for Pete to keep talking, looking at him, his phone forgotten for now. 

“Here’s some poetry for you, although it’s not my workt,” Pete says, slowly leaning forward, not quite into Patrick’s space, but almost.

“ _Now my brother lays upon the rocks, he could be dead, he could be not. He could be you. He's chameleon, comedian, corinthian and caricature._ ”

“That’s Bowie.” 

“Too easy, I see,” Pete says, like he didn’t know Patrick is a die-hard Bowie fan. Like that isn’t at the top of every trivia page about him found on the world wide web.

“Another one, this one is important.”

At this point, Patrick is doing the leaning closer and Pete would high five himself if he could. He really is a musical nerd, Pete thinks fondly. It’s exactly what Pete has been looking for. 

“It’s one of my favorites. _Maybe I’m too old to be so hopeful, maybe I’m too young to be so bitter. But I swallowed adolescence by the chokeful and came away looking like a quitter._ ”

Pete had feared that this would be the point his plan would go up in smoke and Patrick does look stunned, a little taken back even, but Pete moves along without a pause. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not some stalker. Although, me saying that isn’t that comforting, I guess.”

Patrick looks around, maybe trying to see if anyone else heard what they were talking about, but nobody paid them any mind.

“I’m kind of on a mission here and I could need your help.”

~*~*~

Patrick still feels like he’s floating when he walks off stage, that kind of drug-free-high that only performing gives him. He hands his guitar to the technician already standing at the ready without thinking about it and is greeted by Pete, who looks about as happy as Patrick feels. 

Over 50 shows and Pete has been waiting for him every single time, ever since the first. It had been nice to know he’ll be there, touring can be kind of lonely even when your standing in front of thousands of people every night. And knowing Pete will be waiting only turns his stomach all fuzzy and warm most of the time. 

“You did it,” Pete says, excitedly grinning from ear to ear, a familiar picture Patrick’s gotten used to the last month without realizing it. It kind of snuck up on him. 

“We did it,” he answers and neither one of them notice the crew all around them, moving along with their after show routine, while they share that moment of accomplishing something that feels bigger than it seemed when they started.

~*~*~

He’s not exactly sure why he’s here, he never made any plan to go, but somehow found himself on his way regardless.

Patrick has been to this club before - when he wasn’t yet old enough to get in - but never on poetry saturday. At 17 he was way too cool for that, or so he thought - as 17-year olds do.

He’s halfway to the bar when there’s a hand on his back, heavy and warm, turning him around in a spin until he comes face to face with Pete, wide grin and flashing eyes. 

“Fancy meeting you here, what a small world it is.”

He’s ushered towards the bar, Pete’s warm hand on his shoulder posing as a guide, and before he knows it there’s a drink pushed into his hand. 

“You have no idea,” Patrick says and takes a cautious sip. It’s some kind of sparkling water, the kind with only a hint of flavor. With Pete, he’s glad it’s not liquid diabetes in a cup. The night they met they spend a total of 2 hours talking and Pete ordered like six sugar-infused coffees - if you can even call these concoctions coffee. 

He takes another sip while Pete waits for him, confused, to explain what he just meant. 

“I know you.”

His answer doesn’t help clearing up Pete’s confusion, but Patrick didn’t think it would. When he figured it out, he’d been confused, too. 

“Yes, we met,” Pete explains, slowly, like Patrick got hit in the head and forgot who he is, “three days ago. You were there, when we, you know, talked and I introduced myself.”

Patrick admits, that confused and worried look on Pete’s face is kind of adorable. 

“No, before that. Pete Wentz from Arma Angelus, I’ve been to so many of your shows. You were kind of a big deal.”

As Pete’s confusion clears up, so does the worried look on his face and is replaced with that omnipresent grin. But Patrick’s not done yet and he’s sure he’s about to blow Pete’s mind. 

“You stood me up.”

“I did not.” 

Pete almost looks like Patrick just insulted him, holding his hand to his chest in a dramatic motion. 

“You did,” Patrick answers, easily, and goes on to explain how he once met this guy at Border’s and how he wanted to make a band with Pete and how they were supposed to come by Patrick’s house to watch him play. If Patrick believed in fate, he would have thought this was it; meeting Pete after all this years after all. But he doesn’t quite believe in fate, so he chalks it up to coincidence. 

Pete listens, quietly, and Patrick watches the wheels turn inside his head, trying to piece the story together. By the time he wraps up his tale, Pete’s mouth is literally hanging open and Patrick has to keep himself from laughing. 

“No way.”

~*~*~

“Have you thought about what I said?” Pete asks, still unable to stop himself from smiling after finding out about their connection. In just a few moments he went through countless possibilities of  _ what ifs _ in his head. 

Patrick nods, but he doesn’t look happy about it, not like he’s about to take Pete up on his offer. He braces himself to be let down, it was a long shot anyway.

“It sounds really interesting, but I’m going on tour in three days, I don’t have the time right now.”

Pete tries to keep the disappointment from showing on his face, but he doesn’t seem to succeed, because Patrick looks about as guilty as the proverbial cat that ate the canary. 

“Maybe, when I’m back, we could-,” Patrick tries, but Pete interrupts him.

“Of course, no, yeah, I understand.” he throws in, “can’t blame a guy for taking his shot though, right?”

What follows is a series of awkward moments spend staring at each other and avoid staring at all. He’s still glad he got to talk to Patrick, he’s a smart guy and incredible terrible. Makes him really want to kick himself for not showing up to his house all those years ago. 

“I’m sorry about standing you up,” he says to cover the awkward silence, but also because he means it.

“If you had shown up, we might have made that band.”

“And you could be singing my lyrics and we would travel the world together.”

_ That would be amazing _ , Pete thinks and before he knows it, he’s figured it all out, the solution to their problem, how they both could get what they want. 

“Patrick, you don’t know it yet, but I’m a genius and you’re gonna love me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it turned out alright and if you like it (or not) you can let me know in the comments below :)


End file.
